“I’ll grab two more seats,” Rae says, which gets Laney’s attention. Rae hooks her foot around the leg of an unoccupied chair and drags it over. “Can you grab that one, Angie?” She tips her head to the empty chair behind me.
I grab it and spin it around just as the girls make their way over to our table.
“Who wants to go dress shopping for homecoming with me this weekend?” Rae asks.
Laney’s black eyes taper on Rae. Unlike Mel, she doesn’t sit.
“I’m real sorry about the Brad thing, Laney,” Rae says. “I hope he didn’t retaliate or anything.”
Laney’s lids hike up in surprise at Rae’s concern. Or maybe it’s the apology that has her baffled. “He didn’t.”
I find Brad’s nonretaliation surprising. Maybe he’s not as big a jerk as he seems to be.
“So, shopping?” Rae repeats.
“I’m in. I saw this gray dress at the mall that I’m dying to try on,” Mel says.
“Laney?” Rae asks.
As she sits, Laney bobs her head. And just like that, the hatchet is buried.
Laney’s only been in Reedwood for a year, so I don’t know her well, but I assumed she was the type to hold grudges because of how reserved she is. Which is silly, of course. Personality isn’t determined by how vocal you are.
Rae glances at me. “Angie?”
“I do need a dress.”
Rae rolls her eyes. “Don’t soundsoenthusiastic,” she says, which makes Mel snort and Laney sort of smile.
Mel sucks on her spoon, then points it at me. “Did you ask Ten to homecoming, Angie?”
“Ten? No.” I shake my head. “Why?”
“I was just curious. You two seem close.”
“What?” I sound like someone’s strangling me.
Rae’s cheeks grow as fluorescent pink as her nails. “Why don’t we all go dateless?”
“Cool with me.” Mel scrapes the bottom of her frozen yogurt cup. “Laney?”
Laney sighs. “Sure.”
As we discuss hairstyles and makeup, Rae’s skin tone settles back to its normal hue.
After we part ways, I bike over to Lynn’s house, rehearsing my lyrics softly. The more I ruminate on them, the more ambivalent I feel. I desperately need Lynn’s opinion. By the time I reach my coach’s house, my stomach is as knotted as my windblown hair.
I roll my bike down the paved pathway and hook it to the porch rail, then pull off my helmet and finger-comb my locks as I ring the doorbell.
What if Lynn hates the lyrics? Would she even tell me?
Finally, the door opens. “Hey, Angie,” Lynn says. “Did we have a lesson today?”
“I wrote the song. I mean,asong. I wanted to run it past you and maybe work on it. If you have time.” I was so intent on getting her opinion I didn’t stop to consider if she was busy.
“Um. I’m free in a half hour. Can you come back then?”
I’m taken aback.Come back?“Can’t I wait inside?”
